Denial
by AvocadoMash
Summary: "Arthur, with as long as we have both known each other, do you seriously think that I cannot tell when you are actually smashed? You are nowhere near as drunk as you would have me believe." In which Arthur and Francis only do it when they are drunk, and Arthur is deep in denial; feat. ceiling jizz. PWP fluff i am so sorry


**Omg so I haven't written in like a year so I wrote this as a warm up basically, so I apologize for the ridiculous fluff and cliche-ness. Also the shit title is due to the fact that my original title is not k rated. *WARNING* this is plotless smut**

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><p>Francis licked a stripe down Arthur's thigh, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a shiver from the Brit. Francis grinned into the flesh his face was pressed into, and repeated his action. Arthur's hands found his hair, and he whispered, unable to keep his voice steady.<p>

"Bloody get on with it, Frog. Stop teasing."

Francis, instead of being compliant and following the not-so-authoritative command, pulled his head away from Arthur's lower regions completely, and propped his head on his arm casually beside the man who was now staring in disbelief.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, irritation clearly present in his tone.

Francis' eyebrows shot upward. "Why, mon cher, what exactly is it that you think I am supposed to be doing?" His voice teasing as ever, but underlined with very obvious insinuation.

Arthur immediately reddened, as much from embarrassment as frustration, despite what he would have anyone think, and he huffed.

"I'm naked, we're drunk, what do you think, you sodding piece of moldy cheese?!"

Francis threw his head back and laughed, not insulted in the slightest.

"Arthur, with as long as we have both known each other, do you seriously think that I cannot tell when you are actually smashed? You are nowhere near as drunk as you would have me believe."

Arthur darkened even further, burying his face in his hands. Francis, completely expecting to be shoved out of bed and turned away for the night at finding Arthur out, was decidedly shocked at the words uttered next.

"I asked you a question, Francis."

Francis sat upright, no longer in a teasing mood.

"Arthur?" he questioned uncertainly.

As long as they had been doing this, which was a good deal longer than Arthur would ever admit to, Arthur had never once initiated anything while anywhere near sober.

Francis had numerous suspicions as to why that was, as well as to why Arthur fervently denies anything ever happening between them, but he had never pushed too far as to what exactly were the real reasons.

Now, however, the situation had changed. Arthur was very much not shit faced, and he was very clearly inviting, what Francis sincerely hoped, was an acknowledged tryst between them, with no pretenses or excuses to hide behind.

Arthur exhaled into the hands that were still covering his -presumably- still blushing face, and slowly rested his cheek on his now drawn-up knees to peek at Francis.

"You and I both know I am never really as drunk as I pretend to be."

Francis felt like the air had been knocked out of him. Despite how well he claimed to know the grumpy Brit, and how Arthur seemed to also think so, he really had not been aware that he had not been totally trashed most of the time.

The shock on Francis' face must have clued Arthur in to this because his face changed to mirror the suprise Francis felt.

Arthur looked like he was about to say something, but Francis snapped out of it and belted out a laugh first.

"Look at us, Rosbif. How many years have we been getting drunk together and having sex, and neither of us thought to clarify anything? It is so very us."

Arthur's face returned to his normal appearance, if not a little more annoyed.

"It's just sex, not much to clarify." He grumbled.

_That was the wrong thing to say. _Arthur meekly observed to himself as a dark shadow passed over Francis' face, that being all the warning he got before he was tackled back onto the bed.

He was expecting angry words or a fist or stranglehold or _something_, but what he was not expecting was the sudden sharp breath he was forced to inhale as he felt the brush of Francis' prickly chin over his neck and lips at his sensitive ear.

Hands travelling slowly up the Frenchman's back, they tangled in the golden mass of curls falling about his head and he sighed, the sensations making him both pleasantly relaxed and simultaneously getting him worked up.

He felt Francis' eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he slowly moved his ministrations away from his ear and over to his face, slowly coming to meet his own lips.

His hands stroked through Francis's blond stands, pushing them away from his face so their gazes could meet uninterrupted, their mouths moving in tandem.

There was something heavy and...and..._strong_ looking back at him in Francis' blue eyes, and although decidedly not unpleasant, he closed his own eyes so he wouldn't have to keep looking and think about what it meant.

Francis responded to Arthur's closed eyes with a prod of his tongue, and Arthur did not need any further encouragement to deepen the kiss.

Francis' tongue caressed his over again and over again, sending tendrils of pleasure coursing through his spine and causing his toes to curl.

If there was one thing Arthur would admittedly never change about the infuriating French frog, it was his kissing; there was no denying his technique was flawless.

Francis' hands did not remain still while he kissed the breath out of his counterpart; they roved up and down his sides, smoothly and deftly coming to tease and press and pinch at all the right places to have a squirming Englishman in his arms.

Arthur's breath came out in heady pants when Francis' mouth left his only to travel down to his neck to suck, the sensitive skin darkening and leaving a mark whenever that devious mouth moved to another spot.

Arthur wanted to crawl out of his skin. While their previous encounters of this sort had indeed entailed a good deal of dirty deeds and making out, they had hardly ever taken it slow and done it _properly_, and Arthur was entirely unused to this feeling, this feeling of being _worshipped_.

Deciding that while it was certainly bordering on something that he himself would never describe as heavenly, it was completely unfair. As was the fact that he was the only one totally undressed.

Fingers making quick work of Francis' unbuttoned top, he flipped the button on his pants and shoved them down with a great deal less finesse than he wished he possessed.

Francis paused to kick them off his feet before returning his mouth to the body before him, entirely too wrapped up in the responses he was eliciting to really care all that much about himself.

When that French tongue eventually ran lower than his chest and dove into the dip of his stomach, Arthur had to supress a rather embarrassing noise, but did not manage to keep his back from arching up just the smallest bit.

Francis' eyes found his from where he was, looking up with a _smirk_, and Arthur was a little pissed. He was no blushing virgin girl that he would let himself be pushed over and used, so he thought it only right that he get a reaction in kind from Francis.

He did enjoy quite a bit the cut-off choking sound Francis made and the way his back went ram-rod straight and his hips jutted forward when an unexpected grip landed on his dick.

Pushing the now pliant Francis backwards onto the bed and flipping their positions, he wasted no time in replacing his pumping fist with his mouth, being the straight-forward no-nonsense bloke he was, swallowing around the intrusion.

Francis' upper body jerked straight off the bed in surprise, one hand coming to fist in his mouth, the other landing in Arthur's unruly, dirty blond hair.

Being no stranger to this, Arthur used the movements of his tongue he was actually quite proud of to undo the moaning Frenchman.

Hollowing his cheeks, he bobbed his head and swirled his tongue, eventually coming to a stop with only the head still in his mouth, and teased at the tip. licking down a bit more, he tongued at the underside and moved his hand to the base.

Francis was mumbling garbled French obscenities, breath quickening with every swipe of Arthur's tongue, and he felt something in his stomach tighten.

He quickly shoved Arthur's head away and shook his head, not feeling himself capable of words for a moment, and pointed to the drawer on the side dresser.

Arthur merely cocked one enormous eyebrow, but reached over to fumble in the dresser until he pulled out the only thing that wasn't a pair of socks or underwear: a half empty bottle of lube.

Both eyebrows went up this time, and a fiendish grin split Arthur's face, the likes of which had only previously been witnessed on Francis.

Arthur crawled back in front of Francis, standing on his knees. Uncapping the bottle, Arthur grabbed one of Francis' hands and squirted a generous amount onto the fingers. Francis let him in surprise, and allowed his hand be guided where Arthur led it, at a loss for a moment at what the Englishman was doing, so uncharacteristically brazen.

He caught on after no longer than a second when Arthur brought his hand to a rest in-between his spread legs, finger-tips pushing lightly at his entrance. Smoothly gliding his longest digit in with hardly any resistance, Francis dared a look at Arthur's face.

It was neither drawn up in his familiar scowl to express discomfort nor relaxed in pleasure as Francis preferred, but rather lax in awe at the odd sensation that Francis was just realizing must be his first experiencing. The red mottled cheeks displayed how embarrassed Arthur was to be in this position, being unusually unguarded and unfamiliarly intimate with another person, and Francis at that.

Francis, being considerate, pulled Arthur forward to his chest, Arthur's arms coming to grip around his neck as his nose buried in Francis' neck.

Steadily thrusting his finger inward, Francis kept up the pace until he felt a sigh catch in Arthur's throat and a hot puff of breath blow on his cheek. He then warned Arthur of the impending second finger by tracing gently around his hole before inserting it, slow and cautious.

Arthur's arms tightened around him for a moment before he relaxed again, the initial discomfort waning and the weird-but-kinda-good feeling returning. Francis continued his previous pace until he was sure Arthur felt it plenty well, and began to scissor his fingers.

Arthur made a small noise, and just as Francis was going to ask if he was all right, he shoved is hips back onto the fingers. Whimpering into Francis' ear, he managed a breathy "Do that again." before repeating the movement of his hips and throwing his head back with a groan.

Realization dawned on Francis and he slightly crooked his fingers, looking for the spot he must have hit. He knew he had found it again when Arthur stopped suppressing his noises and _moaned_, long and slightly high pitched, and he drew his fingers over it again and again for distraction while adding his third finger.

Spreading all three, he made sure to hit that spot almost every time as he stretched Arthur, his fingers moving at the same rate as Arthur's thrusts back.

Retracting his fingers and almost feeling sorry for it as Arthur whimpered, he situated himself between Arthur's legs before pulling his pelvis down to his lap and drawing the shaking legs of the Brit around his waist.

Hefting him up into his arms, Francis looked up into Arthur's face, which was screwed up in anticipation. He leant forward and touched noses before reconnecting their mouths, gently thrusting his hips upward.

Arthur gasped into his lips, eyes snapping shut to stop them from leaking anything. It was sharp and it _burned_, like it was going to split him in two, but more than anything it was intense, and he did not know what might happen if he looked into Francis' eyes at the same time as he felt this.

Francis murmured sweet words into his ear, which he might have found absurdly romantic had they not been in _French_, but they seemed to calm him all the same, as his body adjusted a little more every time Francis slid further in.

"Ready, Mon Petit Lapin?"

Arthur gulped and rapidly nodded his head, not finding it within himself to care about the name at that particular moment.

Francis thrust his hips again, and drew a similar gasp out of Arthur. He did it again, and again, striking up a rhythm, and Arthur found his gasps morphing into moans and even worse, pleading.

"_Mmmm_...faster, Francis, _please_."

Francis was all too happy to comply, Arthur being insanely tight and warm, and barely having restrained himself thus far. As his hips drew out almost all the way and slammed back in further, with more speed and force, he heard Arthur's incredibly erotic moaning grow in pitch until he was outright _screaming_, his prostate being attacked with every back and forth motion.

Francis forwent any control he might have been clinging to then, spurred on by Arthur's vigorous cries, his tempo lost as he felt himself teetering towards an edge. His mind managed enough awareness to move one of his hands to Arthur's neglected prick, fisting over the length and thumbing over the slit.

Arthur arched his back, toes curling and legs tightening almost unbearably around Francis, and his hands raked down his back as he came, spurting upwards, longer and thicker than he ever had before.

The combined sensation of the nails on his back and the impossible tightening of Arthur's ass around his cock was the end for Francis, and everything went white before it went black, his breathing and heartbeat feeling as though they were never going to return to normal.

He opened his eyes to find he had fallen forward on top of Arthur, who had an arm flung over his eyes and was still panting harshly. Managing to push his weight off the slightly smaller man, he fell to the side and pressed close, summoning up the energy to say:

"Just sex, you impossible bastard?"

England let out a quick, sharp laugh, giddiness and satisfaction bubbling in his veins.

"So perhaps it's not just sex, so what?"

Francis huffed an amused breath and let half his body fall over the other so he could make eye contact with minimal effort. He stared into Arthur's unreadable green eyes for a minute, seeming to argue with himself over something, and leaned forward to brush his lips over Arthur's, a chaste, barely there press that felt strangely intimate for what they had just done.

Murmuring against those lips, Francis uttered those words that broke Arthur's brain.

"Je t'aime, I love you, Arthur." in heavily accented French.

So maybe this whole thing had been a bit more than just sex, especially as Arthur never did this with anyone else, drunk or otherwise, but what about Francis? Did he really love him or is that just something he said after having sex like this? If there was one thing Arthur did not do, it was emotions. His mind raced and he searched for a proper reaction.

Francis did not seem to expect anything however, and he flopped back to his own side, quiet and face serene. As he moved out of the way, Arthur's eyes connected with the extremely low ceiling of Francis' shit motel room and he could not hold back the strangled laughter that made it's way out of his mouth.

Francis looked alarmed for a moment, before Arthur used the hand he was not using to stifle his laughter to point at the white splatter above them.

Francis looked up with wide eyes and said with barely contained awe, "You jizzed on the ceiling." before breaking down into the hysterics Arthur was currently in.

Wiping their eyes and catching their breaths, they both made eye contact, pleasantly smiling and enjoying the atmosphere.

Arthur only had to look into those mirthfully sparkling blue irises for a moment before he knew.

"I love you too, Francis." he admitted.

Francis' mouth gaped. Arthur flushed, half surprised at himself for actually saying it aloud and waiting for Francis to say something.

When nothing continued to happen, he snapped. "You look like a sodding fish. Stop staring at me like that, you bloody git. You said it first!"

Francis made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat. "Yes, but I hardly expected you to admit your feelings to yourself, let alone to me."

Arthur blushed further, but harrumphed and crossed his arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Francis laughed and ruffled Arthur's hair in that infuriating way he always had. "Just that you are typically so steeped in denial, especially about us, it's a wonder you even acknowledge my existence." The somewhat accusatory words were softened by a fond smile gracing Francis' features.

Arthur knew he couldn't deny that statement, he would only be proving the Frog's point and start another bout of teasing, which for once, he was not entirely in the mood for. He blamed the post sex haze.

Instead he sighed and rolled toward Francis, looping his arms about his neck and murmured into his shoulder. "I'm tired." _Tired of lying to myself, to you_.

It was a simple statement that could easily be taken at face value, but Francis had long since learned to read Arthur and understood that it was a roundabout reply to what he had said.

He rested a hand atop Arthur's head and chuckled without humor. "Me too, Rosbif. Me too."

Arthur peeked an eye up to gaze and the other's profile. _What will this be like, I wonder?_

Francis continued staring straight ahead, pulling a lighter and a cigarette out from the breast pocket of his previously discarded shirt. Arthur frowned and smacked his hand.

"This is a non-smoking room, Frog."

Francis pouted. "I am a nation and I want a post coital smoke, so I will have it."

Arthur growled and leaned over to snatch the lighter, but Francis held it out of reach, talking around the cigarette in his mouth. "Can't stop me if you can't reach it!"

Arthur laughed mockingly. "You can't light the damn thing either, moron!"

As they continued to squabble, Arthur realized,

_It will be just the same. _

And neither of them would have it any other way.


End file.
